


Vena Amoris

by katerinamen



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coma, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Violins, Wedding Rings, but not the main thing, rosie loves her dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-13 22:47:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katerinamen/pseuds/katerinamen
Summary: ' ‘Over here!’ he screamed after what sounded like ten years of waiting until he’d heard the approaching footsteps. The paramedics appeared, and John let them tend to Sherlock. They carried him on the stretcher toward the ambulance. In there, John held on Sherlock’s ankle, which was the only part of him he could reach from his position and prayed to whatever God was above that Sherlock would survive. '





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This just sort of...happened.  
> It's almost finished and it will have around 9 chapters.  
> Hope someone enjoyes. :)  
> Kudos and comments much appreciated *wink wink*

John stopped and leaned heavily on the wall of the abandoned factory. Obviously, he was not on the right track and he should run back to find Sherlock, but he needed a while. He couldn’t catch his breath and he felt like his whole body was on fire. After all, John wasn’t thirty anymore….or forty for that matter, and also, he and Sherlock weren’t chasing criminals in the middle of the night for quite some time now. 

They still helped Greg, of course, but they tried not to behave so recklessly. They had Rosie to think about. So, after a rather nasty case which ended with John in the hospital for a few days when Rosie was two, they agreed to step back a little and leave the chasing to the police forces. That particular case proved to be ground breaking even on bigger scale, however. It was after John got home from the hospital and Sherlock made tea for him when they stepped out of the slowly-killing-them ‘just friends’ state.

They arrived from the hospital together, all three of them. Even though John stayed in the hospital mostly for observation and stitching, Sherlock insisted upon remaining at his side, leaving the hospital only once. It was the day before they left, and he picked up Rosie from Mrs. Hudson to bring her to John’s private room (already equipped with additional bed, food, clothes and even some toys for their little Bee, all thanks to Mycroft) so that they all could spend the night together.

When they arrived to their flat the next day, they were welcomed most cheerfully by Mrs. Hudson, and then they allowed Rosie to watch whatever cartoon she wanted (because they felt a bit guilty that she had had to spend around twenty hours in a hospital room consisting of worried Sherlock, tired John, TV without children-friendly channels and just a few toys). 

‘Tea?’ Sherlock asked, rather unnecessarily. He suddenly didn’t know what to say.

‘Please. The coloured water they called a tea at the hospital was killing me.’ John answered as he sat at the kitchen table.

After a while of silence, John said: ‘Thank you.’

Sherlock looked up from the boiling water and turned to John, confused that John would thank him for making tea with so much weight in his voice. ‘For what?’

‘Well, everything. For staying with me…and bringing Rosie and looking after her.’

‘No need to thank me for that, John,’ Sherlock said. ‘It’s…’ Sherlock didn’t know how to express himself. Making John happy or satisfied at least was like breathing. Actually, no. Breathing was boring. This was the most important, essential but also natural thing for Sherlock to do. 

‘You would do it for me, too’ Sherlock said in an attempt to express that it caused him no trouble and there was no need for gratitude. However, as soon as he uttered it, he realised it was maybe too self-assured to say. Of course, the most important person in John’s life was Rosie…

‘Yeah, but that’s the point, isn’t it?’ John said and broke Sherlock’s train of thought. The thing is, that by this point John was done. He was really tired of the pretending and cautiousness. It was still possible that Sherlock didn’t want romantic relationship, but he would have to rely on the strength of their friendship. He had a lot of time to think in the hospital as he couldn’t sleep in the sterile environment. He just went through the facts in his head…that they lived like a married couple already. Heck, they raised a child together. And John wanted all of it. He craved it. Because he loved Sherlock with all his heart and saw that Sherlock cared for him in the least. And so, in the hospital bed he decided that he would stop being coward and do something about it.

‘John?’ Sherlock didn’t understand what John wanted to say and he had the most delicious confused expression on his face. And suddenly, John had to kiss him. His existence depended on it. And so, he did. 

Sherlock remained motionless, but John continued to lightly press his lips against his and pressed down the worry. Not yet. After all, he still remembered how Sherlock reacted to being called his best friend. And just as he began to pull away to really check out on Sherlock, the full soft lips began to move against his and it was one of the most powerful moments of his life. The kiss remained innocent but insistent and full of emotion.

When they drew back, they looked into each other’s eyes. ‘John?’ Sherlock said, as if he wanted confirmation if he understood correctly.

‘I love you.’ John answered and let the words sink in. It felt so elevating to say it out loud. Sherlock just stared at him and his eyes looked like they were watering. John hid his own face into Sherlock’s neck and hugged him tightly. After a while, Sherlock found his bearings and said the words he had thought he would never have the chance to utter. ‘I love you, too.’

And just like that, it began. They made love for the first time two days after that. After a year went by, Sherlock asked John to marry him, which John did just a few weeks after that in the presence of their families and closest friends. They enjoyed their happy domestic life with John helping a few hours a week at the clinic and both helping Lestrade with cases not boring but not too dangerous at the same time. They brought Rosie with them, however not at crime scenes involving dead body and she was not allowed in the morgue either even though she argued every time.

‘But Dad! I’m seven, I’m not a baby. Besides, I saw human eyeballs and a human heart yesterday and it was interesting.’

‘Rosie. I thought we were clear on this. No meddling with Sherlock’s experiment or even getting near 221C until you’re at least ten!’

……

So, this turn of events was a surprise, really, as the case seemed to be a four at most. However, the suspect panicked and kidnapped a five-year-old son of the business woman who accused him of burglary of her office. That happened just a few hours ago and all the clues pointed to this direction -that the man hadn’t left London yet and didn’t intent to either. He was just panicked and shocked by his own actions and now didn’t know what to do.

John regained some of his strength and turned back to look for Sherlock, with whom they had split into ‘the two only possible paths where he could go, really, John, it’s trivial’ in the huge factory complex. As he got nearer to the place where they parted ways, he heard noises of fight and struggle. He sped up, his whole body, most loudly his lungs and heart protesting. He ran as fast as he could. He didn’t hear any more noises and it was more upsetting than settling. 

He ran through some narrow allies and then he saw him. Sherlock. His husband, his everything. Lying on the dirty, cold floor. Motionless. John pulled out his phone and called an ambulance while running to him, only barking out the address and telling them to go inside the old factory’s biggest building. 

‘Sherlock!’ He screamed as he fell to his knees at Sherlock’s side. Although it was fruitless as Sherlock remained still. Oh God, please let him live. John quickly assessed his condition. He felt pulse, although weak. ‘Oh, thank god.’ It was at least something. However, it didn’t look good as Sherlock didn’t respond at all. He had some small cuts on his hands and two fingers on his right hand were swelled. But that was all right. However, his hair was full of blood which seemed to be pouring from the back of his head. Blow to the head, then and probably not a single one saying by the state of his forehead. 

‘Sherlock, stay with me okay? Don’t dear to leave me!’ John said while trying to stop the bleeding, which seemed the only thing he could do to help. ‘I love you, we all love you. Please don’t leave us… oh Christ where is the ambulance?!’ Just as he muttered this, he heard the siren.

‘Over here!’ he screamed after what sounded like ten years of waiting until he’d heard the approaching footsteps. The paramedics appeared, and John let them tend to Sherlock. They carried him on the stretcher toward the ambulance. In there, John held on Sherlock’s ankle, which was the only part of him he could reach from his position and prayed to whatever God was above that Sherlock would survive. 

In the hospital, they sat him in the waiting room. Sherlock was taken to a surgery. And then, it really hit John. He was useless now. And he was scared to death. He began to cry. He desperately tried not to see the worst scenarios. And failed, of course. He thought about brain injury. About Sherlock’s brain, which was most probably without the supply of oxygen for…how long? How long did it take for the swelling to develop, blocking the passage? How long did Sherlock lie there before he found him? How long was he late?


	2. Chapter 2

John sat at the hospital, alone with his gruesome thoughts for god knows how long. And then his phone rang. Lestrade. Oh, right. He's completely forgotten that they had arrived at the factory with police force at their backs, surrounding the complex of buildings.

‘Yes, Greg.’ He said with a shaking voice.

‘John! Where are you? What happened? We caught them, he had two sidekicks, but you were nowhere to be found!’

‘Yeah. I’m at the hospital. Sherlock…’ his voice trailed of as new tears threatened to flood his eyes and he let out a shaky breath.

‘I’m on my way.’ Lestrade said simply and hung up. John remained sitting there with his phone by his ear, eyes vacant. And he waited.

Lestrade arrived about ten minutes later when John sat at the exact spot with his head in his hands. ‘John.’ He said cautiously, sat next to him and gave John a cup of coffee. He knew he would not drink it, but at least it was something to do…to hold on to.

‘He’s still at surgery.’ And after a while, he added, ‘I don’t know what happened, Greg. I found him already unconscious and completely unmoving and…’ he sighed shakily.

Greg didn’t know how to console his friend and anyway, nothing would help right now. So, they sat together in silence, waiting.

They didn’t even know how long it was before the doctor came. It certainly felt like a lifetime. ‘Dr. Watson?’

‘Yes.’ John stood up and tried not to fall to the ground immediately.

‘Hello, I’m doctor Moore. I am happy to tell you that the surgery of Mr. Holmes went well, we managed to relieve the pressure on the brain. He’s at the ICU now and we will monitor him for potential further brain damage. However, he fell into coma before the surgery due to the swelling which was blocking the flow of oxygen to the brain…’

The doctor kept talking but John didn’t hear it. His brain as well as heart didn’t know what to do right now. Sherlock was out of immediate danger, he will survive. But as he’d heard the word… This was no medically induced coma and… Well, he knew the statistics. Only about half of the patients woke up and even smaller percentage of them had no permanent damage. And it was even a little less hopeful with people over forty.

‘John.’ Lestrade said.

‘Yes, sorry…. I’m sorry what?’ John said as he was occupied by the grim thoughts and didn’t know what they had said.

‘You can go and see Mr. Holmes for a while if you want to.’ The doctor said.

‘Yes, yes of course.’

But before, Lestrade took his elbow gently. ‘John, do you want me to go to Baker Street and tell Rosie and Mrs. Hudson?’

John suddenly realised that they must have been sick with worry and felt a little guilty about not contacting them. ‘Yes, that would be good. Thank you, Greg.’

‘Of course. Keep me updated, will you?’

John entered the room, barely acknowledging the nurse as he was transfixed by the image of Sherlock. His curls were gone, his head bandaged. He was attached to IV fluids and a couple of devices with catheters hanging from the bed like snakes on a tree. But the worst of it all was the endotracheal tube leading from his lungs into the ventilator which supplied Sherlock’s body and most importantly now, his brain with the so much needed oxygen.

John hardly recognized him. It seemed impossible that this was the same person as his Sherlock with all the uncontainable energy, climbing furniture and pacing the room. Or his Sherlock when asleep. With his mouth slightly open, his hair a mess and his limbs everywhere but at his side of the bed.

John suddenly realised he must have just stand there and stare for a very long time. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and went to the right side of the bed. There he took hold of Sherlock’s left hand. (No ring, John registered but didn’t give it any thought)

‘Hey, love.’ He whispered, while his eyes were watering again. It was so heart-breaking to see that it bought him no response. Normally, Sherlock still blushed a bit when John called him ‘love.’ Normally. Will it ever be like it was before?

John shook his head and concentrated on Sherlock again. He sat on the chair right beside him and kissed his hand. ‘I love you, you hear me? And Rosie loves you, too. So much.’ He took shaky breath and kissed the tip of his nose. ‘Come back to us.’

After a while, doctor Moore came to tell John that he should go and come back tomorrow in the visiting hours.

‘You’ll let me know immediately if there’s any change, right? Anything,’ he wanted to make sure.

‘Of course. We will run some tests in the following hours, too, including identifying the coma level. We will inform you about that in person tomorrow.’ The doctor confirmed, and John squeezed Sherlock’s hand one more time, whispered one more ‘I love you’ and went away. He didn’t protest. After all, he knew that ICU was strict in this, for good reasons, and besides, he was too tired to argue. Not mentioning the fact that he had a seven-year-old waiting for him. Nevertheless, nothing could stop him from feeling like he was abandoning Sherlock. He couldn’t think of anything else during the ride home.

Right after he closed the door behind himself, Rosie and Mrs. Hudson emerged from 221A.

‘Dad!’ Rosie with tear-stained cheeks shouted, ran to John and hugged him tightly, while John kneeled to her and stroked her blond curls. Mrs Hudson came to them and joined in the hug.

‘Oh, John. What happened? How is he?’ Mrs. Hudson asked after a short quiet moment.

John, still on his knees and with his hand around Rosie’s narrow back answered. ‘I don’t know what happened exactly, but he must have gottten into a fight and got a blow to his head and…yeah. The surgery went well but…’ John didn’t have to finish. Greg told them, anyway.

‘He’s on the ICU now.’

‘Is he going to die?’ Rosie asked straightforwardly, eyes wide and full of tears.

‘No, no. He won’t.’ John answered, trying to convince himself. But he wanted to be honest with his daughter, too, so he added: ‘Listen, why don’t we all sit down with tea and talk?’

They sat down in Mrs Hudson’s living room. They made the tea just to have something in front of them. Nobody took even a sip. John took a deep breath and steeled himself. He had to get together for Rosie. He had to explain the situation to her as much sensitively but at the same time truthfully as possible.

‘Okay. The doctors did the surgery of Papa’s head and the doctor who talked to me was very confident that there would be no further damage, but they want to make sure, so there will be some tests done in the following days. It is good that there is no other injury or damage of other organs. But, as you know, he is in a coma. Do you know what that is, Rosie?’ John asked cautiously.

‘Well, it’s like he’s sleeping. But… he might not wake up?’ Spelling it out was really something else than just knowing it in the back of your head. And as Rosie said it, it really dawned on all three of them. But John had to continue.

‘Yes, essentially. He can wake up tomorrow. Or in a week or in a month...’ _Or never,_ John thought but he didn’t say it out loud. ‘It’s quite complicated because we know very little of how people wake up from it and what we can do to help them to. But papa is just after the surgery and the doctors will know more tomorrow.’

‘Can I go and see him?’ Rosie asked.

John thought she might ask about this. He didn’t want to deny her of seeing Sherlock, but it could be very destressing for her. Especially on the ICU. Besides, there was a reason for the hospital rules.

‘You know, in most hospitals, children under twelve aren’t allowed in the ICU rooms.’ She just frowned a bit. She wanted to see her papa, of course, but she was terrified of it, too. ‘And they could move him to a regular room in a few days and then we could even stay with him longer.’ John really hoped for this. And then to hell with visiting hours.

They stayed at Mrs. Hudson’s just for a while longer, after all it was well after midnight. Rosie went to sleep in John and Sherlock’s bed. They cuddled together and thought about Sherlock. They fell asleep in early morning, with not-yet-dry tears on their cheeks.

After breakfast that tasted like ash, John was ready to go to see Sherlock again.

‘I’m gonna go now, Rosie. Will you be alright with nana?’ John asked with a concerned smile.

‘Yes, daddy. I will. I… tell Papa I love him.’

‘I will, love. And I’ll be home in the evening. Take care.’ He said and kissed her forehead.

When he arrived at the hospital, he could go right in to see Sherlock. When he opened the door and stepped in, he fixated his eyes on Sherlock just like the day before. It was like he was hit by a bus. He felt almost worse than the day before. It really happened. Sherlock was lying in the ICU, with all the wires attached to him, motionless.

It took him quite a time before he found out how to move normally and he sat down beside Sherlock. He took his hand and kissed his cheek. ‘Hi, love.’ He said and felt his eyes burning. He knew that Sherlock would not just opened his eyes and say ‘Oh, John. Good morning.’ Of course. But still. It hurt.

Before he managed to say more, doctor Moore entered the room and motioned to John to follow him outside. There, after the necessary courteous ‘good mornings’ and ‘how are you’s, the doctor began to explain what it looked like with Sherlock.

‘I’ve explained already to Mr. Holmes earlier this morning, but I presume you’d like to hear it from me directly, too.’

Oh. Of course. Mycroft. John hadn’t even thought about texting him, but then, Mycroft knew their every step. And it was so typical. John arrived at the hospital a few minutes after 7 a.m. which meant Mycroft had to be there so very early. He worried about his brother, but god forbid somebody saw him like that.

‘Yes, if you would.’ John simply answered.

‘Mr. Holmes’s condition hasn’t changed much over night. There were no complications, so we think we might move him to a regular private _(thank you Mycroft)_ room tonight or tomorrow morning. But we want to make sure that there is no further damage to his brain so today we will do more tests like CT scan, MRI.’

After a short pause, he continued. ‘As to his comatose state… I don’t know how much you are familiar with the Glasgow scale, but initially, he was on 4, which is critical. However, the good news is that he didn’t remain at that for long. He improved over the night. He reacts to prolonged pressure to some parts of his body with moving his hand which-’

‘-doesn’t mean that he will wake up, anyway.’ John interrupted him because he didn’t want to hear any vaguely encouraging talk. He knew how it was.

‘Well, yes. That’s true. But it’s definitely more hopeful.’ The doctor said. When John didn’t say anything, he continued. ‘Anyway, I will leave you for a while and then we will start with the CT scan.’ And he went away.

While John was entering the room again, he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but sorrow from last night. Whatever the doctor said, nothing changed for him until Sherlock woke up. He got together and focused on the present again. He laid his hand on Sherlock’s lightly and began to whisper slowly: ‘Sherlock, I won’t be able to be with you all the time, today. But know that I am thinking about you constantly. And Rosie and Mrs Hudson, too. We miss you already… And love you.’ John didn’t manage to say much before the doctor was back with some staff and wheeled the bed with Sherlock away.

So, John was left alone. He waited in the hall and thought about nothing. His mind was completely blank, and it stayed that way every time he wasn’t at Sherlock’s side. And when with him, he only managed to squeeze his hand lightly, kiss his hand or face and repeat how he loved him.

At the end of the day, when it was dark outside, the doctor met him in the corridor and announced to him that all the results came back clear. There was no damage apart from the healing wound from the surgery. But John wasn’t able to bring himself to be just a tiny bit of happy. Yes. It was great news, John was grateful for it. But Sherlock was still in coma and there was still around 50% chance that he would not wake up. Besides, the longer he was in coma, the bigger chance he would be left with some permanent impact. Not counting memory loss, he could even wake up as a different person or his physical and mental abilities could be compromised. Or he would fall in a vegetative state…

‘John!’

John suddenly refocused on the reality again and saw a concerned face of a nurse. ‘I’m sorry can I call you John? You weren’t reacting to ‘Dr. Watson.’’ She said and smiled at him.

‘Yeah, sorry. Was locked in my head, I guess.’ John said apologetically.

‘That’s alright. You should go home and visit him tomorrow in his new room.’

‘Yes, yes I… will. Thanks.’ John said, still a bit dazed. ‘But I… can I say goodnight to him?’ he asked almost shyly.

The nurse- god he should have at least asked what her name was- smiled and let him into the room. When there, John kissed Sherlock and held his hand for the hundredth time that day and quietly murmured in his ear. ‘I will be back with Rosie tomorrow morning. She’s looking forward to seeing you… we both love you so much, Sherlock.’ John said and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the stinging behind them again. ‘Good night.’ He whispered and straightened abruptly as he was scared that he would be unable to leave if he stayed a bit longer.

However…

John looked at Sherlock again and walked back to him. The nurse didn’t comment on that and John took Sherlock’s hand again. The doctor had said he reacted to pressure. But when he held his hand, nothing happened. Maybe if he tried to increase the pressure or to keep it longer… He clutched his hand and held. Three seconds, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten seconds and John squeezed even harder. One last- suddenly the hand beneath his moved. It was slow but distinctive. Sherlock moved his hand, away from John’s, closer to his own chest. John stared at his own hand, now hanging in the air, stunned. It was an odd feeling. How could he be so excited about a simple movement like this?

It was the nurse who startled him from his surprise. ‘I’m sorry, John, but-‘

‘Yes, yes. I’m going. Sorry.’ He managed to reply. He said ‘good night’ again to Sherlock, then to the nurse, too and headed home.

In the cab he couldn’t stop marvel at the movement of Sherlock’s hand. Objectively, he knew that coma patients responded somehow even though they could never wake up and yet... When he saw it, it gave him hope. A glimmer of hope after nothing but dread.

He texted Greg to update him and then desperately tried not to think about anything, especially about Sherlock in the hospital bed, alone. Tomorrow, when he steps into his room, he would not be leaving until Sherlock wakes up… _if he wakes up,_ his treatcherous mind suppplied _..._  and nobody would convince him otherwise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosie goes to see Sherlock!

Rosie was excited when John told her she could go and visit Sherlock the next day. However, John knew he had to prepare her somehow. It wasn’t easy for _him_ …to see Sherlock like this and it would be even harder for Rosie. He knew she probably realised this, too and was scared.

So, the next day, they forced themselves to eat something early in the morning and set out to go to the hospital. Mrs. Hudson said she would go and see them in Sherlock’s room in the afternoon. During the cab ride there, John got a message.

_Room 305. -MH_

Of course, thought John.

After a brief conversation with the doctor they found themselves in the corridor just a few steps away from Sherlock’s room. John stopped. He motioned Rosie to sit on a chair and seated himself next to her.

‘Listen, sweetheart. You mustn’t be surprised when you see all the wires that are attached to Sherlock. They just help to monitor him and keep him alright.’ John said while looking at Rosie intently. Rosie nodded seriously.

‘And his hair must have gone, because of the head surgery.’ John felt like he had to mention this, too. It was better for Rosie to know what she was going into. Even though nothing can prepare anyone for the sight of their loved one like this. But at least, according to the doctor, Sherlock didn’t need the ventilator anymore, because he could manage to breathe and supply his brain with enough oxygen by himself now when it wasn’t in the earliest state of healing.

‘And as you know…’ John hesitated a bit, ‘he’s in the coma. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that he cannot hear us or perceive the outer world somehow, okay? So, we will do what we can to help him come back to us.’

Rosie was silent, just nodded again. Usually, she was very talkative and had a response to everything but now it was obvious that she was sorting that out in her head and was preparing. She was afraid. But that was okay, John thought. It meant that she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. The fear meant understanding, too.

‘Okay, ready?’ John asked while getting up.

Rosie got up, too and took a hold of John’s left hand. ‘Yes.’ And they went in.

As they stepped into the room, side by side, Rosie tightened her grip on John’s hand and when she saw Sherlock, she stopped as John did when he first saw him at the ICU. John gave her time and just stood there with her. After some time, Rosie lead them both to the side of Sherlock’s bed next to the window. They were approaching his bed slowly, but as they were only two steps from him, Rosie let go of her dad’s hand, quickly closed the distance between her and Sherlock and hugged him as tightly as the wires and all allowed. Tears were falling freely from her eyes now and she wasn’t letting go for a while.

‘Hello, pa.’ she managed through the tears and lump in her throat.

John stood beside them, his eyes glistening with new tears. He let Rosie have her private moment with Sherlock and then bowed down to them, one hand on Rosie’s back, the other on Sherlock’s arm and kissed Rosie on her head. Only then did Rosie let go of Sherlock and sat down in one of the chairs beside the bed. She placed her hand on Sherlock’s wrist.

‘Sorry.’ She said while John was sitting down beside her. He smiled as much as he could in the moment.

‘No need for that. It’s only natural and it’s good to let it go.’ He tried to console his daughter and put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes, I think I am.’ She whispered. ‘I… shouldn’t I say something to him?’ she asked, and it occurred to John that he didn’t say anything to Sherlock yet.

‘Yes. We should.’ A few seconds of silence followed, then Rosie whispered: ‘It feels… odd. When he’s-‘ but she didn’t finish as she felt like crying again.

‘Yes, it does. But remember, he can hear us.’ _Probably_ , thought John. He really didn’t know how to behave either and he felt even more inappropriately with Rosie here, for some reason.

Only now did John look around to see the room properly. Wow, he thought. ‘Hey, we can start with describing the room.’ John said and felt like an idiot, but it was his only idea.

‘Okay, we can do that.’ Rosie said, and she started to look around just now, too.

‘I think Mycroft is of some use after all, Sherlock. This room is great, much more than a standard private room.’ John said. ‘And he clearly agrees with me staying here with you, because there is another big bed next to yours, kettle and tea and we have a private bathroom, too. With all the supplies we need, it seems.’ John continued as he went there and about the whole room.

‘Oh, and there is a big TV, some DVDs and books.’ Noticed Rosie.

‘And two comfortably looking chairs in the opposite corner from you with a small table.’ John said. Suddenly, he noticed something on the table. It was Sherlock’s ring. He took it in his hand and looked at it while Rosie continued to describe all the little details of the room including the ‘hideous’ wallpaper and curtains. _Who took it from Sherlock’s hand? Was it he himself?_

John became abruptly aware of the silence that fell around him. It seemed that Rosie was out of unexplored items. So, he pushed the questions about the ring aside for the moment and he settled at the opposite side of Sherlock’s bed to where Rosie was sitting.

‘Mrs. Hudson will visit in the afternoon.’ John said. ‘She misses you, too.’

The atmosphere in the hospital room changed as they fell silent again. It was Rosie who broke it after a while. ‘He looks… like he is far away from us.’ She said and John thought that that is in fact a rather accurate description of how it felt.

‘Yes, it does. But I think he is actually quite near.’ He answered and lost himself in thoughts for a second. ‘He just needs to break through.’

‘And we will help him with that.’ Rosie said with a determination in her voice. John smiled at her. ‘Yeah, we will.’ And for the first time in that horrible days, John could hear hope in his voice, too, just as he felt it yesterday.

When the nurse (Caroline, John read from her name tag) came in to check on Sherlock, he asked her to stay there with Rosie for a while, so he could get them lunch. After all, she was only seven. John often forgot that she was so young, because she was so smart, so bright and sometimes she surprised him with a word he could hardly use himself. That was one of the influences of Sherlock, certainly. Nevertheless, it wasn’t healthy environment for her, especially being alone with comatose Sherlock in a hospital room, however luxurious.

He got the lunch and returned to the room as fast as humanly possible. Just a short while after they finished their meal, Mrs. Hudson came to visit. She fussed over Sherlock, but she didn’t cry anymore. John thought there were no tears left, just as it was in his case. She also brought them biscuits and Rosie’s stuffed bee, which she had got from Sherlock when she was two and which she’d forgotten to bring with her. But it didn’t stay with her for a long time.

‘That is for you to get better, Pa. She will help you.’ She said as she put the bee next to Sherlock’s shoulder on his bed shortly after Mrs. Hudson left. And suddenly, Sherlock’s hand moved. It was as if he wanted to grasp the bee but didn’t manage. He just shifted his hand across his body and it stayed that way.

‘Pa?’ Rosie whispered in surprise, her eyes wide. But she didn’t get any answer. ‘Daddy? Did you see it?’ she turned to John and she looked so puzzled. He himself was shocked, because this was different then when he pressed on his hand before. This was Sherlock reacting mostly to Rosie’s speaking because the bee hardly touched his shoulder.

‘Yes, darling. I.. I saw.’ He said, still a bit dazed and he bowed closer to Sherlock. ‘Sherlock, could you do that again?’ he asked foolishly. When there was no movement or sound, he tried: ‘Or anything else, Sherlock. Please. If you can hear me.’ Nothing.

Rosie fell into her chair. ‘But he-‘ she started but couldn’t continue as tears were falling from her eyes and quiet sobs escaped her throat. ‘He moved his hand but then… why-‘

‘Shhh.‘ John tried to soothe her while he put her in his arms. He felt disappointed, too, but he knew that it was dangerous to get overexcited about these little things. ‘It’s okay, Rosie. This is a very good sign.’ At least he thought it was. ‘Papa just needs more time. This is completely normal. The improvements happen gradually.’ He held Rosie in his arms and rocked her until she stopped crying.

Then he kissed her forehead and asked. ‘Why don’t you read something to Sherlock from the new book of yours? I think he would like that.’

‘Okay.’ Rosie said and went for the book ‘Animals of our Planet’.

When the doctor came in to see Sherlock, John told him about the incident. Dr. Moore confirmed what he had thought himself. It could mean improvement. It is certainly hundred times better than nothing, anyway.

They spent the rest of the day by reading aloud and watching TV (with Rosie’s commentary, of course). At the end of the day, Rosie convinced John that she would stay the night with him and he, on the other hand, convinced Rosie to go to school the next day. He thought it would be best. Rosie couldn’t be closed off with him in this room and it would be helpful to have some normal routine. But he made a mental note of calling in the school first thing in the morning to just let them know what had happened.

He also called Mrs. Hudson, who agreed to walk Rosie to school from the hospital. When he was speaking to her, he realised he didn’t know anything about Sherlock’s parents. It wasn’t like them not visiting Sherlock or to visit with Mycroft, unnoticed. Maybe they didn’t even know. But now it was quite late in the evening, so he thought it would be best to think about what to do the next day.

After a poor dinner from cafeteria, they washed in the bathroom, told Sherlock good night, kissed him, each on one of his cheeks and got to the other bed. It was big enough for them both to lie comfortably in it. They slowly fell asleep with the company of the steady beeping sound of the heart monitor.


	4. Chapter 4

After Rosie let go of Sherlock reluctantly and went to school with Mrs. Hudson, nurse Caroline came to check on Sherlock, and on John, too, probably. She also brought a bowl of water and washcloth. John took it from her and started to wash Sherlock gently. Then he shaved the stubble that had formed on his face and which he usually couldn’t stand. He then moved and massaged his limbs as the nurse said would be good.

While he was doing this, he didn’t utter a word. He couldn’t. It was just too bizarre, too depressing. Because even when they took a shower together occasionally, Sherlock considered the notion of washing each other ridiculous. With the exception of his hair. He loved that even though he would never admit it. God, how John missed the curls.

‘There.’ John said when he finished. He thought about what to say next when his phone rang. It startled him, and it took him a while before he went to answer it. It was Sherlock’s mother. Suddenly, as he looked at the name on the screen, John felt a new wave of sorrow. He took a deep breath.

‘Hello, Violet.’

‘Oh, John. We only found out this morning. How-‘

‘Yes, I’m sorry about that, I-‘ but he was interrupted, too.

‘No John. We don’t blame you. You have Rosie to think about and… Mycroft kept it from us this long on purpose.’ It was quiet for a few seconds. It sounded like Mrs. Holmes was gathering herself. ‘We’re on our way, we’ll be at the hospital in the afternoon.’

John was oddly relieved. He loved Sherlock’s parents and it was really unfair to keep this from them however well Mycroft might have meant. And maybe…maybe…he hoped that their presence would help Sherlock to come closer.

‘That’s… great. See you then. Have a save journey.’ John said but he didn’t sound like it was great. How could he, anyway. But Mrs. Holmes understood, of course.

‘Thank you, John. Goodbye.’ She said and hung up.

And now, John was alone again. Alone with Sherlock. He went back to his side and held his hand.

‘Did you hear, Sherlock? Your parents will visit. I know, normally you would probably roll your eyes and say ‘tedious’. But I know you love them.’ John said melancholically. ‘As they love you. We all love you, Sherlock.’ Tears were threatening to fill his eyes again. ‘But you know that, right?’

‘I hope you do.’

Doctor and nurses came and went without any news, really. Sherlock still reacted quite strongly with his arms to prolonged pressure, but he didn’t repeat his reaction to words and his eyes remained closed. John found it more bad than good but the doctor said not to lose hope just yet. They should give him time to improve until it was a week after the surgery. So, three more days and then they should start to worry if nothing changed. That was what John gathered from the mysterious speech of doctors anyway.

In the early afternoon, Sherlock’s parents arrived. John heard them in the corridor, so he went to greet them. Besides, he wanted to give them a bit of privacy with Sherlock. So, he waited for about ten minutes in the hall with a cup of tea. He knew how he reacted when he first saw Sherlock. It could be shocking even though you think you know what to expect.

When his cup was empty, he knocked on the door and stepped in carefully. Both Violet and Siger Holmes were on the right side of Sherlock’s bed. Violet was caressing Sherlock’s shoulders and hand and her eyes were red from crying. Siger was holding her hand and his eyes were fixed on Sherlock’s face.

It seemed they didn’t even noticed John entering, so he cleared his throat gently. ‘Can I…?’

They both turned to him suddenly and tried to smile. Mr. Holmes spoke first. ‘Of course, John. Come here.’

John went to the left side and sat there in a chair.

‘John. How are you? How are you coping?’ Mrs. Holmes asked and John thought that he really didn’t know how to answer.

‘Well, you know. I’m making a do.’

‘And what about Rosie?’

‘Yeah, she’s brave. She was here with me all day yesterday and left this morning for school. She should be here in a few minutes, actually.’ John said. He didn’t know if he should say something about Sherlock’s state. But he supposed Mycroft had told them already, however he’d known. Violet seemed to be thinking about the same thing.

‘Mycroft…he told us that Sherlock reacted somehow?’

John took a deep breath. It pained him a great deal to talk about this, for some reason. But it was better to say this before Rosie was there. ‘Yes. He moves his arms. Usually it is as a result of prolonged pressure. But one time…one time he reacted to words, too. That was when Rosie gave him the Bee.’ He said and pointed at the stuffed animal above Sherlock’s head.

‘Only this one time?’ Siger Holmes asked. John just nodded. Suddenly the door opened and there was Rosie with her school bag on her back.

‘Granny! Grandpa!’ she smiled when she noticed them and ran to them.

‘Hello, Rosamund.’ They both said and exchanged kisses on cheeks with each other.

‘Hello, Sherlock.’ Rosie said and kissed his nose. She then went to John’s side and kissed him, too.

‘How was school?’ John asked.

‘Boring.’ She said.

They spent the afternoon talking about all sorts of things, also talking to Sherlock, each secretly hoping for a miracle or at least some movement but nothing happened. When it began to dawn, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were preparing to go to their hotel. They said goodbye to all of them, Violet adding a kiss to each.

‘We’ll be staying in town, John, and we will certainly visit Sherlock again. But when we’re not here and something happens -‘

‘I’ll let you know immediately, don’t worry.’ John said.

When they left, and John turned around again towards Sherlock, his eyes found Rosie. She got closer to Sherlock and watched him as if she wanted to rouse him to some movement with the sheer power of her scrutiny. John suddenly remembered. The ring. He still didn’t know why  or how it had appeared on the table, but he would find out later. Right now, he wanted to put it where it belonged. He took it out from his pocket and went to Sherlock.

Rosie looked up at him as he lowered himself beside Sherlock. Then he picked up his left hand. The ring finger wasn’t attached to any wire or anything and it seemed alright for Sherlock to have it returned. So, he looked into Sherlock’s face and then slid the ring on his finger.

The beeping of the heart monitor sped up. Four quick heart beats. John looked there and then back at Sherlock… whose eyes were open.


	5. Chapter 5

Both John and Rosie stayed frozen for a few seconds.

‘Sherlock?’ John whispered. Nothing. It was so weird. Sherlock’s eyes were open but unfocused as if he were looking through the ceiling. John saw that Rosie was confused and she tried very hard not to cry again. John then reached for Sherlock’s hand and squeezed a bit but that didn’t rouse any reaction either. Instead, Sherlock’s eyes closed slowly again.

It was like unwrapping a gift under a Christmas tree, thinking it is the new video game you wanted only to find out that it is a box of socks. The moment of joy was over. If Rosie wasn’t there and didn’t look so shocked and perplexed, he would have thought that his brain played tricks on him and that it didn’t happen at all.

He called the nurse, who called the doctor and John told him what had happened. Doctor, of course said his ambiguous diagnose but sounded pleased, hopeful. At least to John’s ears.

When they were left alone again, he sensed that both he and Rosie needed a bit of consoling, so they cuddled together on the big bed. But they felt like they should keep contact with Sherlock, now more than before so they talked. Rosie told them about her day at school, that annoying boy and stupid girl, about her friends and good and bad teachers. Then she remembered that she had homework to do and got to work at the table.

John then stretched his back and legs a bit and then sat on the chair beside Sherlock again. Taking his hand and kissing the ring on his finger, he remembered that he hadn’t asked the doctor about it yet. ‘Never mind.’ He said aloud.

He looked Sherlock into the eyes…well he looked at Sherlock’s closed eyes and still holding his hand at his face, said: ‘I love you, Sherlock. Maybe I don’t say it too often, but I do. And I love our little family. I can’t imagine my life without you.’

Meanwhile, Rosie came to the bed too and sat at its side, careful with the wires. ‘I love you, too, Papa.’ she said and smiled at John, who then continued.

‘I don’t know if you can hear us or if we’re helping by saying these things to you… but still. Know that we miss you here and would very much wish for you to come to us. Because we love you…Yes I repeat myself I know…’ John laughed but it sounded more like a choked sob. He held Sherlock’s left hand to his face tightly.

He felt something. A slight shift of Sherlock’s trapped hand. But he couldn’t even identify what it was. In what direction it moved. Maybe it was just a spasm of muscled. All the same, it left John breathless for a moment since it felt like Sherlock patted his cheek…with a bit of imagination.

Rosie didn’t even register it from her position. She shifted so she was half lying beside Sherlock with her face pressed against his arm. John kissed Sherlock’s hand once more.

‘Hey, Rosie. Will you be okay here for a minute? I’m going to get us something to eat.’

Rosie nodded and John left. He suddenly realised that he hadn’t eaten anything since that morning and his stomach growled.

They ate their (not very tasty) sandwiches and then prepared for bed. They watched TV with commentary from Rosie, as per usual and went to sleep.

.

The next day (was it Tuesday? John didn’t even know) started as the day before. Mrs. Hudson visited in the early morning and then went to school with Rosie. Initially, she tried to convince John to go with them at least for a little while so he would be outside, too. And initially, it seemed like a good idea. But then, when they were to leave, John just couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Sherlock alone now. What if he woke up to an empty hospital room? That was just unacceptable. Fortunately, Mrs. Hudson understood and didn’t pushed him.

This time, John even had lunch, because Molly came to visit. Then, Greg came, too and Sherlock’s parents on top of it. After that, John was exhausted from all the explaining, of comforting and of being comforted. So really, when he was left alone with Sherlock, he felt quite relieved.

When Caroline came to check on Sherlock, he remembered the ring and asked, if she didn’t know how it appeared in the room on the table and not on Sherlock’s finger.

‘Oh, yeah, I remember that I put it there. We found it in his trouser pocket. Or it fell out, more precisely.’ She answered.

So, Sherlock must have taken it off, then, John thought. But when? Had he have it on before the chase? ‘Well, Sherlock,’ he said when alone again, ‘I guess that’s another mystery only you can enlighten me about.’

Other than that, the day was rather unsuccessful. John didn’t rouse any new reaction from Sherlock, who now opened his eyes in reaction to pressure, but other than that, nothing new.

.

The day after that was uneventful, too and suddenly, it was a week since… the night. John and Rosie had a routine every day. In the morning, they washed and ate breakfast, which mostly consisted of a tea and Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits. Then, Mrs. Hudson, Greg or Molly came and picked up Rosie for school. Then John washed and shaved Sherlock, the nurses and doctors came to do a check-up, they also moved Sherlock to avoid bed sores and John massaged his limbs. Until Rosie came from school, John then busied himself with talking to Sherlock, reading or watching some DVD and it was more of the same with Rosie, besides she did her homework, or someone paid them a visit and brought them a decent meal, too.

It occurred to John that it might not have been so fruitful for Sherlock. It seemed that books read by himself or Rosie, talking and stupid TV shows weren’t enough to wake him. As well as their wishes and prayers. So, he had a plan for today.

When Rosie wasn’t there, he found news on his laptop and carefully picked out the most vicious murders and he read it out loud for Sherlock. Then he found Sherlock’s favourite pieces of classical music on Spotify and played it. Meanwhile, he stuck close to Sherlock, holding his hand. He sometimes squeezed more to just see Sherlock’s eyes open or his hand move but he felt a bit guilty for doing so. Sherlock’s muscles twitched sometimes, he wasn’t completely still but these movements seemed unconscious and so didn’t bring any new hope.

Just when he was in the middle of squishing Sherlock’s arm, he heard quiet steps on the floor. He turned around and _pinch me if I’m awake._ It was Mycroft Holmes himself. John would have laughed if it wasn’t for the circumstances. Because the look on Mycroft’s face... He looked so uncomfortable, pained and sad. And on top of it, he desperately tried to control his expression. But failed, of course, so it looked as if he ate three kilograms of lemons.

‘Good afternoon, John.’ He said with great difficulty.

‘Oh my god! Is this real? The brother himself?’ John couldn’t help himself. Mycroft seemed to have no reply. That was new. So, John continued. ‘Yeah, I know. Not fond of legwork.’

Mycroft stood there so awkwardly that John just sighed and stepped back from Sherlock. ‘I’ll give you some privacy, shall I.’ he said and aimed for the hall though he didn’t get any response.

He gave Mycroft a few minutes and then came back. Mycroft sat in one of the chairs and had his eyes fixed on Sherlock.

‘I suppose I don’t have to tell you anything about his condition. You know all about it.’ John said as he lowered himself in the opposite chair.

‘Of course.’ Mycroft replied, eyes never leaving Sherlock.

‘Of course.’ John just replied in a sigh.

‘John, I have a feeling I should thank you. If not for saving my brother in the first place and calling an ambulance, then for being here and…caring.’ He said with something which seemed as a loss for words. Could it be?

‘Caring?’ John asked incredulously. ‘I love him, Mycroft. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him.’

They sat there in silence for a while and then Mycroft began to stand up. He cleared his throat, smoothed his suit and put his mask on. ‘If I can be of any assistance, I shall happily provide whatever you need.’

‘Actually,’ John said, ‘I know about something. Could you bring…or rather have Rosie’s violin brought here?’

Mycroft nodded as he neared the door. ‘I will take care of it.’

‘Oh,’ John remembered, ‘and could you somehow arrange for the cafeteria here to have something better to eat? You know, for dinner as both Rosie and I are staying here.’

‘Very well.’ Mycroft said and added ‘Goodbye’ as he was stepping out of the door. But just before it closed completely, ‘Say hi to Rosie from me,’ he added quickly and was gone.

John just shook his head and turned back towards Sherlock. And suddenly, he was looking into open eyes. Sherlock’s eyes were open again! ‘Sherlock!’ he said loudly but no other reaction just like before but it didn’t surprise him that much this time and he tried to stay calm. ‘Hey, Sherlock, Rosie will play for you tonight. Well, she hasn’t practiced all week, but it’ll be great all the same. You love it so much when she plays.’ He smiled a bit and kissed Sherlock. His eyes remained open for five minutes.

A short while before Rosie returned from school, John went to ask a nurse if the violin was okay, if it wouldn’t disturb other patients. Because even though Rosie was quite a talent, she was still only seven and besides, the violin is loud. But in the end, they agreed that it should be alright. Afterwards John also agreed with Sherlock’s mother on the phone that it would be good for Rosie if they took her on a short trip the next day, on Saturday. Just for a walk in the zoo or in a park.

So, after Rosie returned, greeted them both and told them all about her day, she prepared to play Sherlock’s favourite peace from her limited repertoire. But as she didn’t play for so long, she had to bestir her fingers by ‘tedious’ scales and etudes. After a few minutes, she was ready.

She started to play and concentrated on every note. John thought that she never played it better. He was holding Sherlock’s hand just lightly, but he felt something. He turned to look at Sherlock while Rosie was still playing. Sherlock’s muscles worked, but it looked like more than just involuntary twitches. John had his hand squeezed very lightly. He squeezed back, and Sherlock’s head moved to the right and back a bit.

John didn’t even realize that the room felt silent until Rosie appeared at his side. ‘Papa?’ she whispered and reached for Sherlock’s hand, which John released. ‘Did I play it well?’ she asked quietly and Sherlock, miracle of miracles, moved his fingers and pressed them against Rosie’s palm. She smiled while tears spilled from her eyes. John put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. He was smiling, too and even though he knew this still didn’t mean Sherlock would recover fully, he felt happy.

…………

The weekend was gone in a blink of an eye. Rosie enjoyed a peaceful Saturday with her grandparents. They spent most of the afternoon feeding duck in Hyde Park.  Sherlock’s condition seemed to be improving. He didn’t respond to commands per say, but he still reacted stronger when Rosie played and when John kissed him, he was rewarded by a hand clutch, too. But as Monday came, John fell into a bad mood when Rosie went to school. All the changes for better happened throughout Friday or Saturday and then it stayed the same again and John began to fear that it would stay like this forever. The doctor sounded hopeful. Nevertheless… John read about cases like Sherlock, in which it seemed that the patient was waking up but then stayed in a vegetative state, so they were responding, sometimes even to straight commands like ‘open your eyes’ or ‘move your hand’ but never regained full consciousness. 

He spent all morning in the company of his grim thoughts and was exhausted by them. So, around lunch time, he made himself a cup of tea, grabbed one of the books Mycroft brought the week before, sat next to Sherlock’s bed and started to read.

He barely finished the first chapter when Sherlock started moving suddenly. John looked up from the book. Sherlock’s eyes were closed, but he was moving his hands and legs rather violently. And suddenly John realized that he was trying to get rid of the wires attached to his arms and finger.

‘Sherlock? Love, can you hear me?’ But no response came, and he continued to trash. ‘Sherlock, please stop!’ John shouted and tried to stop and calm Sherlock. ‘Sherlock! Stop it!’ But it was no use. So, he called the nurse, who then shouted at some others to help her. They held Sherlock down while one of the nurses checked his vitals and the monitors for anything abnormal. After a while Sherlock calmed down. Caroline turned to John with a small smile and said he was alright.

‘It happens.’ She said.

‘But…does it mean that he’s waking up? He didn’t respond to my voice.’ John said, confused.

‘Not necessarily, I’m afraid. I’ll call the doctor to check on him.’ She said and was off.

The doctor appeared in a short while and assured John that it wasn’t anything abnormal, however, it usually happened when the patient woke up.

‘It certainly confirms that he is not in a deep coma anymore as does his responsiveness.’

‘Yeah, yeah. That’s… good.’ John said, a bit dazed.

The doctor said something more to him, most probably some remotely comforting nonsense, but John didn’t listen to him. While the doctor was leaving, he sat down beside Sherlock again and took his hand.

‘Oh, love. You’re trying, aren’t you? I know you are. We’ll wait.’

John decided not to mention the incident to Rosie. He thought it would only confuse her more, as it had confused him. And so, the evening went by in what became a normal fashion. Rosie tried to convince John that it was completely fine if she skipped school the next day but didn’t succeed. Hence the next morning went as usual and John was left alone again.

But today, he didn’t let the grim thoughts to invade his brain. He talked to Sherlock about nonsense, then received a call from Greg and then Violet Holmes, who wasn’t feeling well so she couldn’t visit. Just as he wanted to make himself a cuppa, Sherlock started trashing just like the day before. John did a few quick steps and tried to hold him down softly.

‘Sherlock. Stop it, please. You’ll hurt yourself.’ And just like he was about to call the nurses again, Sherlock stilled. John looked at him. But he didn’t look at closed eyes. Nor was it a vacant stare that he saw. He looked into eyes that looked back at him.

‘John.’


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock’s voice was hoarse, and it looked like it was a great deal of strain to pronounce just this one syllable. John watched him with wide eyes and couldn’t believe what he saw and heard. Sherlock allowed John to lower him on his bed but looked like he wanted to say something.

John’s brain started working again. ‘Sherlock, oh my god. You...’ He grabbed his face and kissed him while smiling like he'd never did before. ‘I love you.’ But Sherlock’s lips didn’t respond as usual. When John looked at him again, Sherlock had a terribly sad expression on his face.

‘J- John.’ He said, or rather forced it out of himself. ‘S- Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. So sorry John.’ He ranted when he figured out how to say these words. He was on the verge of crying.

‘No, Sherlock. You don’t have to be sorry. It will be alright. It’s all fine.’ John tried to console him, but it was no use. When he wanted to hold his hand reassuringly, Sherlock moved his hand again and repeated, with wide eyes: ‘So sorry, I’m sorry.’

John suddenly didn’t know what to do. He knew he should call the doctor but was afraid it would upset Sherlock even more. In the end, he decided he would call him as he seemed to be upsetting Sherlock nonetheless and the doctor should know that he’s awake.

When a nurse came with the doctor, Sherlock looked positively terrified. He gripped the sides of his bed, but at least grew quiet. ‘Mr. Holmes,’ the doctor said cheerfully, ‘how are you feeling?’ Sherlock looked taken aback by this question and it seemed that he wanted to reply but the words wouldn’t come. The doctor checked his pupils’ reaction and then looked at the monitor and wrote something down.

Meanwhile Sherlock calmed down a bit and just watched the doctor’s every movement. All of a sudden, he looked tired and really, his eyes began closing again. Before John could start to panic that he would fall into coma again, the doctor broke his train of thoughts.

‘This is great, Dr. Watson. Patients are extremely tired after coma and they aren’t awake for more than a few minutes the first time, as Mr. Holmes here. It will lengthen gradually.’

‘So, he’s really out of coma now?’ John asked because he really needed to hear it before he truly believed it.

‘Yes, I’m very confident in saying that he is. But be prepared that even a few of the next times he will wake up he might still be confused. If everything goes normally, we can start any required rehabilitation the day after tomorrow at the latest.’

‘Rehabilitation?’ John asked rather stupidly but he was quite out of it in the moment.

‘Yes, as you may have seen, talking might be a problem, but that can come naturally. However, besides other possible things, physical rehabilitation will be certainly appropriate. We will see tomorrow.’ The doctor concluded and went away.

Oh, yes. Now that John was slowly beginning to function again, he realised what the doctor was on about. Some people needed to relearn how to talk or even eat after coma. And suddenly, John was in the dangerous territory of his mind again. New terms began to show up, as memory loss or a disability of sorts… But no. Now wasn’t the time to worry about these things. He woke up. How different he looked even now asleep. Like he was really there with John. He came back.

John smiled and kissed his husband. ‘You did it, love.’

..

When Rosie returned from school in the afternoon, Sherlock was still asleep. John had been thinking about how to break the news to her and settled on simply telling her right away. He hoped she wouldn’t be upset because she’d missed it. But as for John, he was glad that she did, when Sherlock was so confused and…well not himself.

‘Hi, daddy. Hi Papa.’ She said while stepping into the room. She put her bag in a corner of the room and when she turned to go toward the bed, John simply said: ‘Sherlock woke up, Rosie.’

Rosie looked at him and then at Sherlock.

‘It was a couple of hours ago. I actually think he might wake up again pretty soon.’

‘And he…he fell asleep again?’ Rosie said cautiously while slowly going to John.

‘Yes. But he’s just sleeping. He is definitely back with us.’ John smiled and when Rosie came near him, he sat her on his lap.

‘I can see he looks different.’ She said pensively. ‘But I don’t know what exactly _is_ different.’

‘I know what you mean.’ John said, but Rosie didn’t seem convinced and John really couldn’t blame her.

‘And why is he sleeping again? He slept for almost two weeks!’ Rosie wondered.

‘I cannot explain that, Rosie. But that’s how it is. Coma is not a proper sleep and the patients are tired after they wake up from it.’ John said honestly.

Rosie didn’t say more, she just reached for Sherlock’s hand and watched him. John didn’t want to break this moment but felt a need to protect Rosie.

‘Hey, sweetheart. When Sherlock wakes up, it will probably not be for long again. And he might be confused and don’t talk too much. But that’s alright, do you understand?’

‘Yes.’ Rosie answered and didn’t say more, because her hand was squeezed gently. Sherlock started to come around. John put her down from his legs and she sat in the chair next to him. When Sherlock opened his eyes, John bowed down towards him a bit cautiously as he didn’t want to block his whole view.

When Sherlock’s eyes focused on his, John smiled. ‘Hello, love.’ He said quietly and raised Sherlock’s hand to his mouth and kissed it.

Sherlock looked confused, but much less terrified than before. ‘John.’ He forced out of himself.

‘Yeah, I’m here. And there’s someone with me.’ John leaned back a bit, never leaving Sherlock’s hand, to reveal Rosie, who hadn’t spoken a word as if she had sensed that they should be careful in order not to overwhelm Sherlock. She now stepped closer and stood between Sherlock and John.

‘Hi, Papa.’ she smiled cautiously and because she couldn’t help herself, she leaned forward and hugged Sherlock lightly with her head on his chest. Sherlock let out a breath and tears spilled from his eyes. His hand moved to Rosie’s back slowly. ‘Bee.’ He sighed between the tears.

And now Rosie cried and John, too because _thank God, he remembered._

.

When they gathered themselves a bit, Rosie sat back on the side of Sherlock’s bed. John leaned forward and kissed Sherlock on his lips and he realized how dry they were, so he reached for a glass of water and helped Sherlock just to wet his lips and mouth. When they managed that, he sat back in his chair while taking Sherlock’s hand in his again.

‘W-what’ sherlock said and seemed unable to continue.

‘What happened?’ John finished the question and Sherlock just nodded.

‘Well it was during a case which turned out to be more dangerous than we initially thought. We chased the suspect but parted ways.’ John spoke slowly and calmly. Sherlock seemed to follow. ‘I don’t know what happened then, though. You must have gotten into a fight and got a few blows to your head. And you fell into a coma.’ He concluded.

Sherlock nodded and thought about it. ‘How- how long?’

’Twelve days. It happened the Thursday night before last.’ As John finished the sentence, new tears were falling from Sherlock’s eyes.

‘Sorry.’ He whispered, and John stopped him immediately.

‘No Sherlock. Don’t. Please.’ John insisted with the livid memory of ranting Sherlock before his eyes. But this time Sherlock fell silent. So, John continued. ‘We’re so glad to have you back, love.’

‘We missed you soo much.’ Rosie said. ‘I played the violin, did you hear?’ she asked cheerfully.

‘Ye-s.’ Sherlock sighed but John thought he had said it just for Rosie’s sake. But he didn’t know, really. Rosie smiled widely and kissed Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock raised his hand as much as he could and laid it onto Rosie’s. He smiled weakly and then looked at John. His eyes were almost closing again. ‘I-‘ he tried to say but John understood even though he hadn’t finished.

‘It’s okay if you’re tired, Sherlock. Go to sleep. We’ll both be here when you wake up again.’ And just before Sherlock’s eyes closed, he leaned forward, kissed Sherlock’s cheek and whispered: ‘Love you.’

They both sat in silence for a while and then John went to get the doctor to tell him. After that, he called everyone and even texted Mycroft in case he didn’t know already. But he was still careful about when everyone should come and visit. He feared it would be too much for Sherlock. As it was evening by now and the doctor said that he would do a complete check-up the next morning, he said to Violet and Siger Holmes that they should come around lunch time and the others just had to wait until Sherlock agreed to it.

When he finished the calls, he turned around and had to smile. Sherlock was sleeping in the bed peacefully with his cheeks full of healthy colour and Rosie was resting half on top of him and did herself as small as possible so she didn’t lie on any of the wires. And in that moment, it hit John properly. It was alright. However difficult the rehabilitation would be or whatever limitation would Sherlock be left with, the three of them would be together again. It was as if he could breathe properly after almost two weeks of suffocating.

He revelled in that realisation until Rosie’s tiny voice returned him to earth. ‘Daddy?’

‘What is it, sweetheart?’

‘Can I stay here tomorrow?’ she asked without moving a muscle.

John was on his way toward them both when he answered: ‘Of course. No school tomorrow.’

Sherlock didn’t awaken that evening again, so John and Rosie prepared to go to sleep. But when they were finished in the bathroom, Rosie- already in her pyjamas- aimed for Sherlock’s bed.

‘Can I sleep here tonight?’ Rosie asked as she settled into her previous position. ‘I want Sherlock to know he is not alone if he wakes up at night.’ She said, always so thoughtful.

‘That is nice of you, Rosie. But be careful, okay?’ If he were honest, he didn’t want anything else than to cuddle with Sherlock at night again but obviously, he wouldn’t fit.

.

It was very early when Rosie woke up. She heard her dad breathing heavily in his sleep in the other bed. She was still lying on Sherlock’s bed, right next to him with her hand across his chest. As her brain was starting to work properly after sleep, she realised that Sherlock had his hand on her arm and that the hand was moving. She raised her head and looked at Sherlock.

‘Morning…Bee.’ Sherlock whispered and smiled down at her.

‘Hello, Pa.’ she beamed at him. ‘Is it okay that I slept here?’

‘Sure. It’s…nice.’ Sherlock answered with some difficulty. ‘Thank you.’

.

In the morning, the doctor examined Sherlock. In the end, he was only left with a smaller head bandage, pain medication and additional supply of nutrients, but he should start eating and drinking on his own, too. Sherlock then tried to stand up and he did it, even though he didn’t do any step forward, as his muscles were stiff. But with a wheelchair and John’s help, he could use the toilet. After the examination, Sherlock was so exhausted he fell asleep.

‘It will be a long process to full recovery.’ The doctor said to John after he saw his worried expression.

Sherlock woke up again before his parents arrived but even John could observe that it irritated him, this dependence on him and he feared what the visit of his parents would do. He thought that he and Rosie had better leave them alone, because too many people in the room might cause even more distress for Sherlock.

So they both waited for Violet and Siger outside Sherlock’s room to greet them and then went to the cafeteria. When they came back into the room, John who entered first was welcomed by Sherlock’s glare that pierced right through his heart. It was so cold and full of hatred.

‘Yes. You two now. E…Excellent. As. As it weren’t enough stupid-ty here al-ready.’ He shouted, and it was obvious that the more he talked the angrier he got as he wasn’t able to speak fluently. John did a hard work convincing himself in his mind that this anger was a mere result of Sherlock’s brain injury. Because Sherlock said things like that sometimes, yet this utterance felt incomparably different. Like Sherlock truly despised them all.

Mrs. Holmes turned to John and her face revealed that even for her this Sherlock’s behaviour seemed uncommon and was painful. And that it began earlier than when John came in. Meanwhile, he felt that Rosie gripped his hand like her life depended on it.

‘We should probably go.’ Mr. Holmes said.

‘Yes, we will go now and come back tomorrow.’ Mrs. Holmes added and tried to reach for Sherlock’s hand, but he avoided her touch.

‘Don’t bother.’

Then, they got up and Mrs. Holmes was holding back tears.

‘Violet, it’s just-‘ John tried to explain but was interrupted.

‘I know, John. It’s okay.’ She managed to say and they were gone. Now John was left with a confused daughter who had him in an iron grip, and an exasperated Sherlock.

‘Right.’ John sighed more than said but Sherlock had heard him anyway.

‘What?’ Sherlock barked out.

‘Nothing. I just…I will try to make myself and Rosie invisible, I guess.’ John said and then cursed himself for doing so right away. ‘I think they will bring you food soon. Are you hungry?’ Yeah, when John thought about it… it would not be a happy evening. Sherlock would need help with the dinner and if he stays like this…

‘Food.’ Sherlock simply answered and the way he said it reminded John of the time in Baskerville when Sherlock pronounced the word ‘friends’ as if it were the most repulsive thing in the world. Ever since that night, Sherlock had never been so angry. Until now.

John thought better than to say more and motioned Rosie to go towards the door. ‘Be right back.’ He told the room and closed the door. They didn’t even step away from the closed door when he crouched down to Rosie. He didn’t have to ask if she was alright. She wasn’t.

‘Hey, love, listen to me. Don’t worry. Sherlock didn’t mean it. It is possible that he won’t even remember that he behaved like this later. It is the brain injury talking, alright? It will get better.’ He explained slowly because Rosie really needed to understand. She furrowed her brow and didn’t say anything.

‘Come here.’ John said and hugged Rosie. ‘You’re so brave.’ He whispered. They stood there for some time, then John kissed Rosie on her forehead.

‘Okay, I think we should get back inside.’ John said and smiled encouragingly. He feared another outburst; however, he didn’t want to leave Sherlock alone. ‘Can we?’ Rosie nodded.

‘Hey.’ John said awkwardly when they entered the room. Sherlock was half sitting half lying on the bed and he looked much more relaxed. In answer, he looked at them both, smiled and then asked:

‘Is there something… to eat?’

‘Why? Are you hungry?’ John said and had to smile. Sherlock didn’t remember their previous conversation.

‘Yes.’

As if on cue, a nurse entered the room with a tray, which she then placed in front of Sherlock. John helped Sherlock with it while Rosie ate chicken pie brought earlier by Mrs. Holmes. Because Sherlock was now in his good mood, he let John help him when his arms got tired. He ate by small pieces patiently and yet he had problems swallowing the food down time to time. But on the whole the dinner was a success.

Before they went to sleep, Rosie played the violin for them. She would go to school the next day, John had already decided, and after that go to Baker Street with Mrs. Hudson and come back to the hospital the day after that right from school again. When John told her, she didn’t protest. John knew it was too much for her and even though she would like to be with them, the hospital environment wasn’t exactly pleasant. And if Sherlock had another fit of anger…

.

In the middle of the night, John was awakened by a noise. Before he could see something in the dark room, he heard Sherlock groan and breath heavily. ‘Sherlock?’ John whispered when already half out of bed.

And then he saw Sherlock on the floor, halfway to the toilet. John went to help him up. When they were both upright, Sherlock leaning on him heavily, they look each other in the eyes and suddenly, it looked like Sherlock recalled something.

‘John?’

‘Yeah, Sherlock. It’s alright. Let’s go to the bathroom.’ He said but Sherlock was now gripping his arms tightly and wouldn’t move.

‘John, you have to under…understand. I… I’m sorry. I realized. And then it… I didn’t want to-‘ Sherlock ranted.

‘Shhh. Sherlock. Everything’s alright. Don’t worry.’ He heard himself saying while thinking that this felt rather familiar. Sherlock apologizing again.

Sherlock watched him with wide eyes but in a short time he seemed to be calming down, so John led him to the toilet and then back to bed. He was practically asleep when John laid him down and kissed him good night. He would have to ask Sherlock about it. But he would have to choose the right moment carefully.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter chapter and most probably the last but one! :)

In the morning Rosie was saying goodbye to Sherlock for quite a long time.

‘Come on, Rosie. You’ll be late. You will see each other tomorrow!’ John had to interrupt in the end.

Rosie then kissed John goodbye, too and after a final look back into the room she left. And then, suddenly, they were alone. Just the two of them. However great it was to have Rosie there, however much they both loved her, they needed time just for the two of them, too. They both felt it.

‘Hey.’ John said with the most loving smile, sat next to the bed, bent down to Sherlock and kissed him. But he wasn’t aiming for just a peck on the lips as he did the last two weeks. No. He wanted to kiss Sherlock properly again. To know that it is still him. His husband. Sherlock knew it, and he opened his lips instantly to John's and then dragged the kiss out for what felt like an hour. The most beautiful hour ever.

‘Hey.’ Sherlock finally answered in a sigh after they broke the kiss.

John sat back in the chair. Sherlock seemed to be in a good mood, which would probably get worse throughout the day, so John thought now was the time.

‘Sherlock, can I ask you something?’ Sherlock nodded in an answer.

‘When you…’ John hesitated but went on. ‘When you woke up for the first time, which you probably don’t remember, you kept apologizing… and you did it again last night. So…I was just wondering. Why? What for?’

Sherlock wasn’t answering for a moment so he wanted to try and explain: ‘Because if it’s just because you feel that this is your fault or-‘

‘I don’t know John.’ Sherlock interrupted him. ‘I-‘ Sherlock started, sighed. ‘I don’t re-remember the reason. I just feel…the guilt and…sadness. And a need to explain to you s…something. But I don’t know what.’ He finished and seemed extremely frustrated with himself.

‘Okay. It’s fine. Never mind.’ John tried to assure him. ‘Everything will be alright now.’ He gripped Sherlock’s left hand, then kissed the wedding ring. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too John.’

.

Sherlock’s mood did worsen as John had predicted. He was angry with the doctor, the nurses. Angry about his incapability to walk properly and about the doctor’s proposition that he should attend a physiotherapy. He ate his lunch and after an hour, he asked when it would be served. That he was hungry.

After he calmed down a bit, he tried to assure John that he didn’t need the physical therapy. In the end they reached an agreement that Sherlock would let John help him and do some exercise with him. And if it proved fruitless, he would attend the physio. Another part of the deal was that they would start immediately, and it would be difficult to judge who was more exhausted at the end. Because Sherlock certainly didn’t help. He was like a bloody teenager.

In the evening, John sat on Sherlock’s bed and they enjoyed the company once again. They talked about casual things, about Greg and Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock’s parents and about food. Sherlock grew curiously fond of food, actually.

But after some time, they became serious.

John looked at Sherlock carefully. ‘How are you, Sherlock?’

His husband looked back at him and answered sincerely. ‘As good as I can be.’ He smiled crookedly but then furrowed his brow. He sighed.

‘I can’t… get into my mind palace. But it’s… it’s not like I’ve forgot. I just…can’t get inside. Can’t…concentrate enough.’

‘Give your brain and body time to heal, Sherlock.’

‘How long?!’ Sherlock shouted suddenly but right after that he sagged. ‘Sorry.’

‘No need.’ John said empathetically. ‘You’ve been awake for just a couple of days, love. Give it time.’

‘Yes. You’re right, I guess.’ Sherlock said with his head bowed. Then he looked up and took John’s hand in his. ‘Thank you, John.’

John smiled and wanted to brush it off, but Sherlock knew it and stopped him. ‘No John. Really. I’m grateful.’ And he said it with such an intensity that John shut his mouth and couldn’t find any suitable response.

‘And Rosie, I… I cannot imagine what it…what it was like. For her.’

‘Yeah. But she’s been great. And brave. You actually…’ John cleared his throat. ‘You responded…when in a coma. When she gave you her bee and when she played the violin.’

Sherlock seemed to be on the verge of crying, looking down so John wouldn’t see, and John decided it was enough of serious talk. He didn’t want to overwhelm Sherlock or bring back the guilt and apologizing. And just in time, dinner arrived and Sherlock’s eyes lit up just a tiny bit.

.

After dinner they decided Sherlock could use a proper wash. They prepared a plastic chair in the shower for Sherlock to sit down, which he rejected until his legs gave out and it was only John’s readiness that saved them both from falling down. After that, Sherlock became resentful and remained uncooperative throughout the whole process. But John steeled his nerves and they managed without killing each other after all. And when John led Sherlock back in his bed, he kissed him with considerable force, pushing his lips against Sherlock. Just a reassurance of sorts. For him and for Sherlock.

Sherlock wanted John to sleep in his bed, but John concluded it was a bad idea. One of them would inevitably end up on the floor at night. But John pushed his bed closer to Sherlock’s at least so they were close enough to hold hands when they were falling asleep.

Sherlock was exhausted but kept fighting sleep for a while. He was touching the fourth finger on John’s hand. When he was picking out the rings, he read all about it on the internet. Why and since when it was a tradition, why rings of all the jewellery, why jewellery at all, what are the possible choices as for material, colour or engraving. The problem was, he’d put it all in his Mind Palace, in the room dedicated to all the mildly important information concerning John or Rosie.

But now, he couldn’t remember a single thing about the damned ring.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it! The end! (For now, at least)  
> I enjoyed writing this so much, thanks to everyone who read it :)

Sherlock’s body was healing well and after three more days of exercising with John he could move around on his own without any bigger problem and the doctor felt confident in saying he could be released soon.

‘We’ll do a final check up tomorrow morning and if it all comes out all right you can be going home in the afternoon.’ Doctor Moore said with a warm smile. ‘Of course, you’ll need to continue the exercises and I would advise you to start going outside only gradually. Try to stay in a quiet, calm environment for some time.’

John felt warmth followed by pain immediately at the doctor’s words. There used to be times when Baker Street was all but quiet and calm. But times change. Because then, there were also times when there was suffocating silence and sorrow. But everything changed with Rosie all over, John thought and couldn’t help but feel profound happiness filling him. Because they would come back home tomorrow. All three of them. And that was what mattered.

They went to bed quite early but couldn’t sleep because of the excitement that they would get rid of this hospital room. Rosie slept at Baker Street and was up to school the next day and in the afternoon, hopefully she would greet them there.

It seemed as mere minutes after sleep finally took over John that he was awakened again.

‘John! Wake up!’ Sherlock whispered as loudly as whispering could be and shook John’s arm vigorously.

John sat up quickly and tried to focus his eyes on Sherlock’s form in the darkness. ‘Sherlock? What is it?’

Sherlock sat down close to John. ‘I remembered.’ He said calmly, almost sadly now. ‘I remembered what I was sorry about.’

‘Okay.’ John whispered and didn’t want to push Sherlock to tell him.

‘I fear I will forget it again, so I’ve had to wake you.’

‘Okay. Go on, then.’ John said and laid his hand on Sherlock’s knee. When he didn’t continue, John squeezed him slightly and smiled gently as to say _you can tell me, whatever it is, it’s fine_.

Sherlock then took a deep breath and started explaining. ‘When I was in a fight with the suspect I punched him in the face hard. He fell to the ground, but I knew he would be up again in a moment, that it is not over. But I looked down at my hand and there was a bit of his blood on my wedding ring.’

At that, John inhaled sharply. The ring.

‘I was angry. I took off the ring,’ Sherlock said with a tiny voice. ‘I put it in my pocket because I didn’t want it… the symbol of our commitment and our family to be stained, to be connected to the violence.’

John moved his hand across Sherlock’s back and caressed it while a smile creeped on his face. Of all the possibilities as to why the ring was missing from Sherlock’s finger, this hadn’t occurred to him. And he found it rather sweet. But Sherlock continued.

‘But then I stopped to think about what it means. That I… that I am putting you, our marriage… and Rosie aside because of work.’ Sherlock was now breathing quickly, and he was on the verge of crying. John wanted to say something. To assure him that it was okay, that he was overthinking it. But he didn’t manage as Sherlocked began to rant.

‘But John, I don’t want to do that. I used to put work on the first place in front of anything else and it was the stupidest idea ever and it was slowly killing me.’ Sherlock was positively panting now, tears falling freely from his eyes and to John it seemed dangerously close to panic attack. ‘And when I took off the ring it felt like doing it again and I’m sorry John you and Rosie are the most important-‘

‘Sherlock, stop.’ John had to interrupted him in a calm but strong voice. ‘Calm down. It’s okay.’ He gathered still crying Sherlock in his arms and tried to soothe him. ‘You don’t have to apologize for this Sherlock, it’s all fine. I know you and I know your priorities now.’

‘It felt like I was betraying you both.’ Sherlock said, still crying but a bit calmer now. ‘And it was stupid, too. Because while I was thinking about this I didn’t pay attention to the suspect and… well.’

‘Yeah.’ John sighed while still holding Sherlock. ‘That was stupid, I’ll give you that.’ He said and they both chuckled.

 They sat next to each other and were holding hands in a silence until John broke it. ‘Thank you for telling me. I understand how it might have felt. But I also see how much you have changed over the years. You enjoy every bit of family life… yeah, I observe sometimes, too. Even the lazy Sundays you love.’ He smiled at Sherlock teasingly and nudged him. When their eyes met, he continued. ‘And you are a wonderful father to Rosie.’

They kissed slowly and when they drew back, they rested their foreheads against each other. ‘I love you.’ They both said at the same time, which caused laughing and more kissing.

They couldn’t help it, they laid down on one bed, embracing each other. John lied on his back with his left arm around Sherlock, who rested his head on John’s chest and his arm was stretched across John’s stomach. ‘John?’ Sherlock said when John was half asleep already.

‘Hmm?’

‘We’ll have sex tomorrow.’

At that, John started laughing like he hadn’t for quite some time. ‘As Your Highness commands.’ He said finally and kissed Sherlock’s forehead. ‘But be prepared for some sort of a welcome dinner or something from Mrs. Hudson. You’ll have to wait for the sex.’

‘That’s alright.’ Sherlock smiled and found that he genuinely didn’t mind. Actually, he was looking forward to it.

……

The tests came out fine so Sherlock was free to leave. Just before he did, the doctor tried to explain what he should do and no to do just yet, but Sherlock didn’t pay much attention. After all, John was his doctor and he would keep him right.

They took a cab to Baker Street and at 5 p.m., they arrived home. Just as they stepped inside from the street, Mrs. Hudson and Rosie greeted them with open arms.

‘We made a cottage pie and muffins!’ Rosie shouted excitedly in Sherlock’s ear as she was hugging him.

And so, they went to Mrs. Hudson’s flat and ate. Mrs. Hudson was delighted when Sherlock asked for a second portion while John was still trying to get used to the fact that Sherlock liked to eat now. So the dinner was successful with only one accident when Sherlock broke a glass which had slipped from his hand. His fine motor skills weren’t completely alright just yet.

When tea and muffins were served, and Sherlock was in the middle of a concentrated sipping from his mug, Rosie suddenly remembered. ‘Oh, pa! I draw something today.’ And she was gone but returned in a second with a piece of paper. She sat on Sherlock’s lap and put the paper on the table. ‘It’s for you.’

Sherlock stared at the picture. There were the three of them. Sherlock on the left side dressed in what looked like one of his suits, there was Rosie in the middle in her bee costume and on the right there stood John in a jumper. They were all holding hands and they seemed to be walking in a park. They were all wearing big smiles. At the top of the paper, ‘My Family’ was written in capitals and a big heart right next to it.

‘That’s beautiful, Bee.’ Sherlock said, a bit choked up, and laid a kiss the top of Rosie’s head. ‘Thank you.’

In the end, they spent the rest of the evening chatting at Mrs. Hudson’s and really, just enjoying the time together. At about half past nine, they said goodnight to Mrs Hudson and carried sleeping Rosie in her room. They tucked her in together and remained standing there, watching her sleeping form.

John couldn’t help but think about how unconditionally happy he was now and how close to losing Sherlock they had been. But now they were stronger than ever. John turned to look at Sherlock and he knew that they were thinking about the same thing.

Downstairs they stopped at the hallway to kiss. Sherlock broke the kiss only reluctantly, but he needed to say this. ‘John.’ He whispered, and John knew immediately that it was something important.

‘I was thinking about my mind palace and I concluded that it doesn’t matter in the slightest that I can’t get in.’

‘What? How so?’ John asked rather surprised.

‘I used it for various purposes. One was to have a hiding place of sorts. I don’t need that anymore. Haven’t needed for quite some time now.’ Sherlock smiled at John lovingly and then continued. ‘Well and all the information I have stored there…I didn’t use them much, anyway. Although I do miss the room for your jumpers. I have organized them so well.’ He said and they both laughed at that.

‘The point I want to make is that it doesn’t matter that I don’t recall who was the first in history to exchange wedding rings. Because I know the one thing about it that matters. That is, why I put it on your finger.’

‘And that would be?’ John teased Sherlock to lighten the mood.

‘That I love you and always will.’ Sherlock said, and they kissed with smiles on their lips and after that they stood there in a strong embrace that felt vital.

‘And now, the sex.’ Sherlock said after a while, grabbed John’s hand and led them to their bedroom.

‘On schedule.’ John laughed and followed Sherlock with a giddy smile on his lips.


End file.
